


Slowly Goes The Night

by twistedrunes



Series: George [9]
Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Amputation, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Death, F/M, Gen, Graphic Description, Guns, Gunshot Wounds, Masturbation, Other, Prostitution, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-16 22:39:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16962810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedrunes/pseuds/twistedrunes
Summary: John head-butts him and the man is dazed for a few seconds, streaks of blood appearing above his eyes where John’s razors have bitten into the skin. He is, however, instantly revived when you drive the nail through his wrist into the timber of the barrel.





	Slowly Goes The Night

“I have a friend who told me about these types of tattoos,” you say quietly to the three naked men in front of you. Their hands and feet bound, with dirty, wet rags shoved in their mouths.  You can’t help but smile at the fact they are both literally and figuratively squirming. The razor-like edges of the hay in the bales they are sitting on, raising red, angry welts on their skin. You’re pleased, Arthur, John and the others are following your instructions to the letter. Simply standing witness, without a word being spoken.

“My friend has a crown tattoo,” you say conversationally as you grab hold of the middle man’s ring finger, wiggling it. “Do you know what that means Arthur?” You turn your head towards him. He shrugs and grunts disinterestedly. “It means he’s a boss. A very powerful man.” You say slowly turning your attention back to the man in front of you.

“Unlike this man.” You say distastefully. “This little heart tattoo means this man is a rapist.” You comment lightly, looking at John and Arthur, you shake your head tutting softly.

“Fucking coward.” John spits.

Moving to the man on the left you trace your finger across his kneecap “Stars on the knee, means he won’t kneel for anyone.” You continue speaking lightly. “But this” you tap the dot of ink on his forehead “means he’s a bitch. He ratted in prison.” 

You walk around the back of the men finally reaching the man on the right of the group “This skull tattoo means he’s murdered, someone.” You circle your finger around the tattoo on his shoulder. You stop speaking for a moment moving to stand in front of the men again.  “But really who hasn’t?” you ask smiling broadly and spreading your hands inclusively

John snorts and Arthur clips his shoulder with a gruff “Shut it.”

Ignoring them you continue “So, now I know about you, let me tell you a little about us.” You sweep your hands around you indicating the stable and beyond. “These gentlemen are the Peaky Blinders. This yard belongs to them. This city and everything in it belongs to them. Their boss is Mr Thomas Shelby. John and Arthur here” you stop, turning to point to each of them in turn “are his brothers.”

“So now we know you and you know us, why don’t you just tell us where Mr Shelby is and we can all get on with our lives?” You ask looking at each of them intently. None of the men says a word, all glaring at you. The hessian sack you had filled earlier is at your feet. You bob down and rummage through its contents, making sure to make as much noise as possible. You sigh and stand looking at the three men again “Mr Shelby?” you repeat and receiving no answer you walk away from the sack and down past the stalls. You stop, looking at a collection of tools hanging on the wall and take a hoof nipper from the wall, before bending down to rummage through the shelves, finding a box of horseshoe nails and you pick them up too.

“John. Would you be so kind as to roll that barrel over here please?” You point to the floor in front of the man with the heart tattoo. “Thank you.” You say as he rolls it into place, you put the hoof nippers and box of nails on the top of it before instructing John “Just pop his hands up on top there.” John complies. “Excellent,” You turn back to the sack again and pull out a hammer.

“Now John if you would be so good as to push this rapist’s hand out flat on the top of the barrel please.” Again John does exactly as asked. You take a nail from the box and press its point against the rapist’s wrist. You raise the hammer over your head. The rapist begins to squirm and grunt. John head-butts him and the man is dazed for a few seconds, streaks of blood appearing above his eyes where John’s razors have bitten into the skin. He is, however, instantly revived when you drive the nail through his wrist into the timber of the barrel. He huffs and screams around the gag. His eyes filling with fear as he tries to draw breath and finds he’s unable to get air through the wet fabric.  

You’re aware of the muffled yells of his comrades but you ignore them. “Rapist,” you address him “where is Mr Shelby?” you ask dropping your face down level with his. He huffs and chokes. “Pardon I can’t hear you?” you say raising your voice to be heard over his gargled cries. You pluck the rag from his mouth. You wait a moment, watching the rapist. 

“Whore!” he cries thrashing.

You raise your eyebrow “No.” You shake your head dismissively and pick-up the hoof nippers. Slipping it over his pinkie finger.

His eyes widen again and this time he screams “No!”

“Where’s Mr Shelby?”  You ask. The rapist spits at you. You close the nippers and his finger shoots off the barrel landing on the floor. Blood spurts all over your hands and onto the front of your dress. You grimace and shake your head distastefully. You pluck the rapist’s gag from the top of the barrel and wipe your hands. The rapist’s screams are deafening. You shove the bloodied scrap of fabric back into his mouth. He gags.

John looks down at the severed digit before scooping it up and putting it in his pocket. He looks at you “Can’t have one of the horses eating it by mistake.” He says earnestly.

You shrug, suppressing a laugh “Before you go then,” You clip the rapist’s middle finger. He thrashes again, still crying out. You raise your eyebrows at him questioningly, but he shakes his head. You clip the index finger. You notice rose coloured bubbles forming at the corners of his mouth. “Where is he?” you repeat.

“No, no” comes the muffled cry around the gag. You snip his thumb. John quickly picks up the three extra digits slipping them into his pocket, his hand patting the outside of his pocket indifferently.

“I let you keep this one,” you tap the rapist’s ring finger, heart now completely occluded by blood, “so people know what you are.”  The rapist falls forward resting his head against the side of the barrel. He begins to choke and gasp. You drop the nippers back on top of the barrel and walk away.

Standing at the front again you move your gaze from the man on the left to the man on the right and back again. “So are either of you going to tell me where Mr Shelby is?” Both men’s eyes flare angrily. You sigh. You tug the gag from the murderer’s mouth “Pardon?” You ask.

“Who the fuck is Thomas Shelby?” He snarls. You push the gag back in hard, your fingers hitting the back of his throat causing him to heave. You whisper in Arthur’s ear and Arthur nods to show you he has heard the instruction and strides out of the stables.

You turn your attention back to the rapist, realising he’s gone quiet. Grabbing a handful of hair you yank his head up and find him slack-jawed, unconscious. You roll your eyes and pull the gag from his mouth dropping it on the floor. “Wake him up.” You say to John. The rapist comes to with a gasp as John throws a freezing bucket of water over him. Horror flashing across his face as he sees his bloodied hand. He begins grunting and hurling expletives at you. You look at John quickly and he shoves the now sodden gag back into his mouth.

“Here ya go love.” Arthur crows holding the glowing branding iron out in front of him. He hands you a glove which you slip on your hand before he hands the iron to you “Watch ya’self it’s hot.” He warns kindly.

“Thank you, Arthur.” 

The murders eyes are wide and focused solely on the white-hot tip of the brand. “You asked who Thomas Shelby was. Let me explain it to you. He’s the man that owns anything that bears this brand.” You lower your hand ensuring the brand doesn’t touch his skin, but close enough so he can feel the heat. You rest the brand against the bale of hay causing it to catch alight. The murder smirks momentarily thinking you’ve missed. You just watch him blinking slowly while the flames creep up the side of the bale and start to lap at his hip. The flame travels quickly over the short uneven strands of hay underneath his butt, balls and dick. The murderer begins to huff and squirm before blind panic overtakes him as the flames take hold around his sensitive flesh. You screw your nose up at the acrid scent of burnt hair and singed flesh. As the murderer tries to throw himself off the bale. Arthur places a heavy hand on his shoulder on one side and John does the same on the other. 

“We should probably put that out,” you comment “Charlie won’t be thrilled if we burn down his stable.”

“No water,” John says pointing to the empty bucket at the feet of the still writhing rapist.

“Not to worry,” Arthur says, pulling his out his cock and sending a stream of urine over the lap of the murderer. You and John nod in unison in approval of Arthur’s solution. Soon the smell of piss and wet, charred hay joins the smell of burnt hair and seared flesh. The murder’s body begins to relax as the burning sensation is relieved. You raise the still scalding brand to his shoulder and press it against his tattoo. He bucks out of the grasp of the two men and flies off the bale, before writhing on the floor. You push him onto his back with your foot “Mr Shelby is the man who owns you, friend. Now where the fuck is he?” The man stares at you blankly, wild-eyed with snot flowing from his nose, mingling with his tears and currently being spread over his face by his thrashing.

You turn your attention to the last man. You walk behind him and putting your foot in the middle of his back you push hard. Without his hands to stop him, his face smashes into the floor. You stand behind him and drag him by his hair to his knees. “I’m getting bored boys.” You comment to no one in particular before pulling your handgun from its holster and pushing it to the middle of the forehead of the final man. You use your free hand to try to pull the gag from his mouth. He bites down on your fingers. You drop the gun to his shoulder and fire. He falls backwards with the force. “Don’t fucking try me, friend.” You say using his hair, again, to pull him to his knees in front of you. You press the now hot muzzle to the man’s forehead again. “Where the fuck is Thomas Shelby?” You ask again, voice even. You look the man in the eye “This is your last chance.” You say sliding your finger to the trigger.

“Chantry Road!” The man screams.

“Yes?”

“The third warehouse, there’s a white cross on the door.” He whimpers.

You turn to John, “Go tell Finn, get him to ring Alfie and our lads. No one goes in until we get there.” John runs from the stable.

“Right, you two, go get those crates from the barge and put them in the truck. Round up, everyone.” Arthur barks pointing to the two men closest to the door.

You turn to the remaining men. “Keep these three here until we call and tell you to release them. When you let them go, make ‘em walk, as they are, from here. Make them a sign that tells everyone that this is what happens when you fuck with the Peaky Blinders.”

Arthur nods in agreement before turning to the third prisoner “My brother reckons that it isn’t any more painful to get shot by a woman, than a by man, but that it’s more shameful.” Arthur shoots the man in the other shoulder. The man screams and falls back again. Arthur grabs the man around his throat and pulls his face level with his own “What do you think?” He asks before dropping him to the ground.

\---------------

Finn presses his hand gently to your knee stopping the mad jiggling of your leg as you, he, John and Arthur fly through the early pre-dawn on your way to Chantry Road. You put your hand over his and squeeze it gently. “He’ll be okay,” Finn says quietly. You nod and keep your hand wrapped around his.

Finally, you arrive. A Peaky Blinder waves you down at the end of the road. “There are only three inside.” He says in hushed tones.

“How many outside?” John asks.

“They’ve been dealt with. Looks like they weren’t expecting much trouble.”

“Is there anywhere anyone could be hiding?” You ask the man looks to Arthur.

“Answer her fucking question, Fred.” Arthur snaps.

“The warehouse is empty, just a table and some chairs. Tommy’s tied up to one of the chairs. He looks pretty rough.”

You nod irritably, you would have been stunned if he was unharmed. “How’ve you been watching them?”

“There’s a window up on the right there, you can get to it from the roof of the building next door.”

“Right,” you say leaning forward and resting your elbows on the front seat “I don’t know about you boys, but I’m fucking knackered. So what do you say I go up to the window, you drive in, we shoot these fuckers, get Tommy and go the fuck home?”

Arthur and John look at each other before John turns to you “You’re fucking crazy!” A ridiculous grin spreading across his face.

“Most likely.” You reply grinning back, “Finn, you drive.” You say picking up your Winchester and jumping out of the car. “Fred will signal you when I’m in position.

You’ve managed to force the window open a little and you can hear the men’s conversation as you set yourself. “Come on Tommy, it’s just a fucking prissy egg, where is it?” The man punches Tommy in the gut. You wave to Fred and whistle lightly. Tommy’s head drops, a smirk clearly visible as he pushes off with both feet forcing himself to overbalance and hit the floor.

You take full advantage of the surprise of the goons and shoot the one who had just punched Tommy, the remaining two follow shortly thereafter unable to react to the dual surprise of their comrade’s brains splattering on their faces and a car breaking down the door and screaming towards them. As soon as you see the third man drop you scramble down from your perch and run back towards the warehouse. Finn barely slows as you fling open the passenger side door and throw yourself onto the seat.

Tommy looks awful. One eye completely swollen shut, fat lip and the way he’s holding himself suggests to you that at least one rib is broken. John and Arthur are looking him over “Fuck off.” Tommy slurs. “I’m fucking fine,” he winces and promptly passes out.

“Hospital Finn” Arthur instructs his youngest brother.

\----------------

“Finn” you call out softly jogging after him as he slips out of the waiting room. Finn stops, he looks so pale and young it almost breaks your heart. “Give me the keys to the car.” You say when you reach him.

“Aren’t you going to stay?” He asks pointing back to the waiting room.

“Nah, it’s a time for family.” You explain.

“But,” Finn starts but seems to think better of whatever he was going to say and simply hands the keys over.

You pull him into a big hug, rubbing his back “He’s going to be okay Finn.” You pull away holding him in front of you “You did fucking amazing today, okay. Don’t let the others tell you any different.” You smile. Finn nods and waves goodbye.

\---------------

When you get home you strip off Linda’s dress, looking at it sadly, it's still tacky with blood. You wonder if you will ever again wear a dress without ruining it. Once you’ve dressed in your suit, you wrap your rifle, shotgun and Winchester in a sheet and lay them on the back seat of the car. In the waiting room, you had told Arthur about the goon asking Tommy about an egg. Arthur had explained about the deal between the Russians and Tommy and told you that part of the payment was a Faberge Egg. Leon Petrovich Romanov and Izabella Petrovna were the names he had told you. You slam the door of the car and turn the engine over. You were going to make them pay.

\---------------

You follow Romanov into the bath house. He had been ridiculously easy to find and even easier to follow. You loiter in the change room until he enters one of the private massage rooms. You knock gently on the door, a beautiful young woman dressed only in negligée answers. Over her shoulder, you see Romanov is already stripped down and lying face down on the table. You gesture for the young woman to come outside and close the door. It only takes five pounds to convince her to take a break.

You crack the door open, glancing inside only to see Romanov, on his back, hand desperately flogging his flaccid dick. He grunts slightly, glancing over quickly, at the movement of the door but quickly becomes absorbed in his dick again. Sweat begins to bead on his brow and his grunting and tugging become more anguished. His eyes screw up and he lets out a high pitched whimper. You slip through the door quickly screwing the suppressor in onto your handgun. Still absorbed in his own troubles he doesn’t react to the noise but rather gasps in Russian.

Your jaw sets with his words, recognising them as some Viktor used to use before forcing his cock into your mouth. Romanov’s eyes snap open as you push the gun between his eyebrows. Growing wider as he realises what it is. You smirk at the sound of fluid flowing onto the tiled floor. “Impotent fuck.” You sneer as you pull the trigger. You pull the ring from his pinkie finger and slip it into the inside breast pocket of your jacket. Then undoing the suppressor you drop it in one pocket of your jacket and the gun in the other. On your way out you grab a towel from the pile next to the door and wipe the piss that had splashed on your shoe and pant cuff and then the small piece of gore you’ve noticed on your lapel.

\---------------

You watch Izabella Petrovna drinking tea in the front room of her home from the roof across the street. You watch her open the package you had paid a kid on the street to deliver a few minutes before. You watch her face distort in horror as she recognises the bloody ring. She glances out the window in alarm, looking up and down the street. You pull the trigger, glass smashes and Izabella slumps, a bloody mess replacing her previously regal profile. You slide from the roof, into the street adjacent to Petrovna’s. Slipping the gun inside your overcoat you walk calmly down the road to your car.

\---------------

Barely able to keep your eyes open you pull your car around the back of the bakery and climb the stairs to Alfie’s office. Leaning heavily on the door frame you greet Ollie “Morning. Alfie in?”

Ollie looks up at you in alarm, you realise you must be a sight, sleepless, hungry and filthy from crawling around on rooftops. “Not at the moment. What are you doing here?”

“Had a meeting with some Russians.” You reply rubbing your hand over your face. “Have you heard how Tommy is?” You slump onto the corner of Ollie’s desk.

Ollie smiles at you kindly “Why don’t you get a drink from Alfie’s office? There’s a couch you can have a sit in there while I give them a call. Yeah?”

You nod and drag yourself to your feet and into Alfie’s office. Filling a glass from the first decanter your hand comes to, you slump down into the couch. Your eyes close as the sweet rum overwhelms your senses.

“Careful now,” you hear Ollie say, his hand over yours stopping your glass from tipping.

“Sorry, Ollie.” You reply putting the glass on the floor.

“No problem.” Ollie says kindly “I talked to Michael. Tommy’s going to be okay. Just a few days in the hospital.” He says reassuringly.

You push yourself up off the couch. “Thanks, Ollie. I’ll get going. Tell Alfie I said hello.” You sway a little and are forced to grab Ollie’s arm to stop yourself from falling. Ollie reactively grabs your waist.

This is, of course, the moment Alfie has decided to return to his office “What the fuck’s goin’ on ‘ere then?” He booms.

Poor Ollie leaps about three feet up and two back to get away from you “N-nothing.” He stammers.

“Alfie.” You say in greeting, with considerably less alarm than Alfie’s long-suffering assistant.

“Fuckin’ getting cosy in ‘ere ain’t it.”

“Shut up Alfie.” You snap. “Poor boy’s just stopping me from face planting into the floor. Right?”

Alfie looks you up and down “You look like shit love.” He says sympathetically. “How long since you slept?”

“When did I talk to you last?”

You see Alfie’s face soften “That was early yesterday morning, sweetie.”

You nod wearily “So it’s been about two and a half days.”

Alfie places his hands on your upper arms and gently pushes you back down on the couch, then bends down and lifts your legs up, spinning you around. Not needing any more encouragement you lie back. You’re asleep before either man steps away. 

“Ollie, call the Shelby’s tell ‘em George is here, just having a kip before he heads home,” Alfie instructs the young man, before sitting down at his desk. After watching you for a moment he wanders out to Ollie’s desk. Ollie looks up surprised and hangs up the phone wondering if this is the first time Alfie had ever come to him rather than just roaring for him. “Did she say why she was ‘ere?” Alfie asks eyebrows raised.

“Something about Russians,” Ollie replies with a shrug. Alfie chews on his top lip “You called the Shelby’s yet?” Ollie shakes his head “Yeah, tell ‘em, it doesn’t look like they’ll have any more problems with the Russians. Yeah?”


End file.
